Cold as Ice - Anne Stuart [106]
“Well, at least can you do something about the smell?”
The driver shrugged, not having the good sense to be afraid of Harry’s temper. Not enough people were afraid of him, he decided, particularly not those people who’d managed to mess with his glorious Rule of Seven.
He’d gotten past that initial disappointment, priding himself on his resiliency. He had a new goal now—destroying the Committee and everyone in it, and he’d already gathered powerful reinforcements. The shadow group was a threat to everything he held dear—free enterprise, the right to enjoy himself however he pleased, democracy. He was going to bring them down, every one of them, and then he could turn to rebuilding a new Rule of Seven, something even grander and more glorious.
Because this was personal. Not just the destruction of his carefully laid plans. The infiltration of his private life, with Jack-shit O’Brien and Peter Jensen. There was something so…underhanded about that. But then, what could you expect from people who didn’t have the advantages he’d had. Weren’t as gifted as he was.
He was going to enjoy himself with Genevieve Spenser. First, because Jack-shit/Takashi had tried so hard to have him keep his hands off her. Second, because it would make Peter Jensen turn in his grave. Hurting the woman would be the next best thing to hurting the man who’d betrayed him. Hell, it might be even better; this way he could get his revenge twice over.
But first he had to get rid of these noisy, puking, disgusting children before he grabbed a gun and shot them.
“Stop the car,” he ordered.
And the driver slammed on the brakes.
22
The Kevlar vest was too small, and Genevieve had the sudden, distressing thought that if Peter were there, if he’d been in charge of outfitting her, it would have been the right size. Of course, he’d known what size she was before he’d gotten her naked. Now he’d know even better.
She managed to fasten it anyway, then pulled her T-shirt and sweatshirt over it. Her boobs were squashed and she was having a hard time breathing, but none of it mattered. She sat in the back of the nondescript car, uncomfortably similar to the sedan Peter had showed up with, and let them drive her up the winding road into the mountains, twisting and turning.
She wondered if she was going to throw up again all over her Kevlar vest. It would serve the elegant Madame Lambert right if she puked on her designer shoes, but then some might get down into the vest and that would be very unpleasant. Not that she figured the vest was going to do a bit of good. If Harry’s plan was to have someone shoot her, he’d have them go for a head shot. Lawyer’s brains, she thought again, with a little shiver.
“Are you cold?” Madame Lambert asked. “It gets a bit chilly and damp up here, and there’s supposed to be fog tonight. I can get you a blanket.”
“I’m fine,” Genevieve said in a tight voice.
“What about medication? Peter said you were fond of tranquilizers.”
“Fuck Peter,” she snapped. As a matter of fact, she hadn’t thought of her blessed little yellow pills in a long time. I guess when things get really bad I don’t need them, she thought. They’re just for minor annoyances, not life and death.
“I believe you already did,” Madame Lambert murmured. “I can get you whatever you need. It will just take a phone call and it’ll be waiting for us.”
She almost asked for Tab. She’d been careful with her last meal—her experience at Carl’s Junior had taught her not to shove food into her face—but she’d had to make do with Diet Coke. Surely she deserved a can of Tab before walking into the valley of death.
“I’m fine,” she said. They were climbing higher and higher into the mountains, and a light fog was rolling in. There must have been some kind of massive forest fire in the last few years. Twisted black stalks of dead trees covered the hillsides, making it look like a strange sort of cemetery. She kept her eyes away from the road; the driver was going way too fast for the conditions, and she was nervous enough. Was she ready to die on this strange,